The Other Woman
by Lucinda the Maid
Summary: [Oneshot] Someone watches Miroku from afar...


This fanfiction took an hour to write and over two months to perfect. Here's hoping I captured the mood of the fic well.

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**Disclaimer: **Inu-Yasha is not mine.

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**The Other Woman**

Once upon a time, I did not know what love was. My sole purpose in life was not romantic fulfillment, but obedience instead. While raised by a benevolent woman and well-cared for for most of my life, I'd never experienced romantic feelings of any sort toward anyone. Demons did not make me growl with want, and any human, save my mistress, simply aroused angry feelings within me that I saved solely as energy for the battlefield.

As the years passed, I changed hands, eventually finding myself in the grasp of a wide-eyed, perpetually smiling child. She'd adopted me as her toy and, after years of countless skirmishes and the occasional abusive master, accepted the role she had bestowed upon me whole-heartedly. A decade went by, the days blending together like paints, and I could only watch as my new mistress' eyes dulled and the corners of her mouth drooped, too tired to hold themselves up any longer. And soon, as with many other owners before her, I made the transition from pet to fighting partner.

I became her friend, a constant companion through tragedy and triumph.

We were always together, never alone.

It was inevitable that a fickle thing like love would come between us.

To this day, I can't help but think that it wasn't fair; I saw him first, after all—_really_ saw him—so I should have had him. _I_ was the one who leapt between his legs to his rescue, even without a command from my mistress. He'd stroked _my_ flank first, thanking _me_ for saving his life, before he'd even made eye contact with _her_.

If only he'd known that I loved him from the start, that he was the first person to whom I'd offered my heart. Those unique violet eyes of his were alluring, his raw determination was appealing, those gloriously calloused hands were arresting, the feel of his arms as they stroked me was amazing…

Oh, my Miroku-sama, how I love you.

And, oh, my Miroku-sama, how you love _her_.

Your eyes are the doorways into your mind; whether or not you know of it, they betray your every thought to me, gossip with my brain as our gazes lock. When you look at _me_, your eyes nod in approval. You like what you see, but not in the sensual, "please bear my children" way that you view other women. You admire, but you don't crave.

You look at _Sango_ and you _see_. You look at her and everything else fades to black around you. You look at the woman I call "mistress" and you recognize that you ache for her, that through all the gropes and the slaps, the highs and the lows, the tears and the smiles, you've come to love her like no one else.

I've felt your hands on me in places you wouldn't dare caress her. Oh, my love, my Miroku-sama, why must you torture me through touch? It's so tempting—_too _tempting—to move closer to you, toward the man I want so much—_too_ much; if I'm forced to restrain myself for much longer, I'll burst.

I'd cry if I could.

I nearly did once.

I remember it so distinctly; my mistress had run off, and you, _you_ had followed her path exactly, like a hunter tailing an elusive rabbit. Her tears had been a torrent of grief falling from rain-cloud eyes. Your arms had been a sanctuary, your words a plea for forgiveness, your lips a physical purification.

And your kiss…

Your _shared_ kiss had been salvation, a muted confession, a passionate mirth for both you and her.

Naturally enough, it was hell to watch, hell to know, and hell to me.

I'd been there, Miroku-sama. I had been the only witness. In the still of the forest, in the closeness of the moment, I'd witnessed your union.

I doubt you heard my heart breaking.

And yet, as much as I want to hold it against you both for betraying my friendship and affection, I _can't_. I can't bring myself to hate a friend I've come to trust and a companion I'll always love.

And even as I watch you yawn and make yourself comfortable by the fire as you prepare to travel the paths of your dreams, I can't help but love, regret, desire, approve…

Oh, my Miroku-sama, how I want to be with you.

And, oh, my Miroku-sama, how she does, too.

And, oh, oh! my Miroku-sama, how the mistress' wants _always_ takes precedence over the peon's.

In the end, I suppose that's all I am and all I'll ever be, a simple servant slave to her best friend and her long-suppressed feelings. I can hate my role in life as much as I want, but it won't bring us closer together.

And so, I am content to watch from the sidelines as your love for another woman deepens, like a river carving out a canyon of adoration without regards to the rock it erodes along the way.

I'm willing to play the part of the bitter, cold stone, my Miroku-sama.

For you, and for my mistress, I will _gladly_ do so.

I yawn and wrap twin tails around myself, closing scarlet eyes for the final time tonight. If I'm to pass through the subconscious this evening, I hope that I'll be able to do so with you.

And thus, my Miroku-sama, my love, my despair, I bid you a fond goodnight.

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**End fic.** I tried to understate the identity of the narrator as much as I could, but I trust that most of you were able to recognize who it was. As always, reviews, especially those containing constructive criticism, are appreciated. Thank you for reading. 


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